The Video Games
by sudowoodo
Summary: I'm the first ever Career from District 3. How? I have my own super special training: Video Games. This year, it's revenge of the nerds! Well, sparking an uprising is easy with the help of a genius best friend, a mentor/uncle and a martyred love interest.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! So this is my new story! I just finished a long fic for Harry Potter and this is my new project - you know it's hard getting used to the smaller fandom so I greatly appreciate readers! And reviews! ;) I've been told I'm a wonder with OCs, so I promise you a good story here.

Other genres include friendship, drama, adventure, tragedy … Should be rather fun_ :)_

_Rated T for language, violence. I don't own Hunger Games, but isn't that obvious?_

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><p><strong><strong><span>The Video Games<span>****

**Video Games: my own super special training. Mind Games: of a crazy girl who either welcomes death or can't wait to kill me. Hunger Games: where the girl I fell for would become a martyr. The story of how I short-circuited the uprising in District 3.**

**Video ****Games. ****Mind ****Games. Hunger Games. I'm gonna start losing count of all these freaking games ...**

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><p><strong><span>Part 1: Mind Games<span>**

**Chapter 1**

_It was the final stretch. Three left out of twenty-four. Atticus had been wiped out days ago, and I was the only one left to bring home the glory._

_And this time, I really thought I would._

_We were playing one of my favourite arenas. It was cloudy, dusty. Barren land and concrete. The grey skies reminded me of home. My health bar was seriously low, my stamina not bad, but thankfully I had spare water and berries in my pouch. Absolutely feasting, I was. My weapons were: slingshot, bow and arrows, Master Sword. (And God, I loved that sword.) I had a shield, too, but only wooden, and handmade like the slingshot. _

_Still, I thought I was doing pretty well today._

_I walked along with a grin on my face, tracing my steps back to the Cornucopia. He was waiting for me. Career. Boy #2, or so the words hovering above his head told me. I had no idea where Girl #7 was, but for now I'd just have to deal with each of them as they came._

_He seemed to be in perfect maintenance, which was always the case with Careers in the Game. I had been trying to tell Atticus to fix that glitch for ages, but he liked the fact that it was so much harder this way. He'd think differently if he was the one facing them every damn time._

_And then came the confrontation. _

_I got quite a lovely close up of the ugly brute's face. "Any last words?" he snarled._

_I had long given up trying to make conversation with the other characters. There were astounding limits to the variety you could get out of them, but I had been at this for years. "Sorry, princess, no time to chat!" I said, as __I went straight up to the Career and came crashing down on him with my sword. _

_He had a proper shield, my sword fell over it and hit no flesh. I met the ground and tumbled swiftly behind him, turning in an instant and wrenching my sword into his back. He staggered and I made a random swipe, slashing his shoulder. In the moment it took me to reorient myself, he had lashed out and bashed his heavy shield into me, knocking the air out of my virtual lungs. I managed to drop my sword as I grabbed either side of his shield, pushing it back with as much strength as I could muster, and then twisted it around to catch him off his feet. He fell, but my stamina was lost and I stood immobilised for exactly three seconds before the bar began to fill itself again. And that was all the time he needed to get to his feet, reach for his sword and sink it deep into my side. My wooden shield had snapped right in two, and I brought one of the pieces down hard against his skull._

_I fell to the ground in exhaustion and couldn't move for another couple of seconds. Boy #2 staggered again, but only staggered. Then he threw his sword down and took out a knife. But my slingshot was already in my grasp, and an invisibly fast Deku seed hit his meaty knuckle. The knife fell right out of his fingers and bounced on the hard rocky ground. I laughed out loud in astonishment. He really wasn't the brightest, this one. The next seed went right into one of his small, dumb eyes. And then the other. Strength was next to nothing without sense, and the Careers were thick as shit._

_It was almost over, I could feel the excitement welling up in my chest as I got to my feet and found my sword. Boy #2 had fallen to his knees, clutching his hands over his bloodied eye sockets._

_What a loser._

_I stood over him, kicking off his armour ruthlessly. I raised my sword, holding it straight up in the direction of the midday sun. _

…

And then the world flickered around me and I was back in my room, standing with my arms in the air, my hands clasped around nothing. On the TV screen, the Career was still writhing in pain, blind and weaponless. And my character fell limply to the ground. Dead.

"What the hell?" I yelled.

Then the Career spasmed and went still, too. I ran at the screen, pressing my face to it as the words YOU LOSE flashed tauntingly in red letters.

The screen split. On the right, it showed the winner. Girl #7. On the left it zoomed in on my character. Curly hair of darkest brown, and pale skin. Incredibly good-looking, of course. There was a dart in his neck.

I stared furiously at the TV, clenching my teeth.

From beside me, Atticus said, "Hard luck, Sparky."

"Man, your game _sucks_," I snapped.

The image faded into black and the words MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR glowed in eerie florescent white.

Just then, my mom walked in.

Atticus and I jumped up. He spun around and blocked the TV from her view as I lunged for the flick to change the channel.

Mom blinked and looked at us suspiciously. "Hi, boys."

"Hi, Mrs Clarke," chirped Atticus.

I paused for a moment and then hastily ripped off the headset and gloves.

Mom looked at me. "What game were you playing?"

"Uh … Zelda," I replied, super casual and all. "I still can't get past the balance puzzle in the Temple of Time."

She nodded knowingly because she had no idea what I was talking about. Zelda's even farther in ancient history than she was. "There's cookies downstairs. Are you staying for lunch, Atticus?"

"No thank you, Mrs Clarke. Gotta be home by two anyway."

"Of course," she said softly, smiling her worried-mother-on-Reaping-Day smile. She sighed slightly pathetically and looked at me. "Your new clothes are on the banisters, Kale. Don't forget to clean up."

"I won't, Mom," I said impatiently. She got the hint and left us alone, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Atticus looked at the TV, where some prehistoric sitcom was playing. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Wanna rematch?" he asked me.

"It's always the same!" I complained. "It's those sneaky ones with their stupid sneaky mind games. I can never beat them."

Atticus looked at me and shrugged. "At least it's just a game."

I nodded, turning off the game station and flinging myself onto my bed.

It was just a game. But the Hunger Games it was based on were very, very real.

* * *

><p>I was still thinking about it as we marched into procession around the Town Square. Straight shoulders and brave faces. I should have been thinking about the real-life reaping today, only minutes away. But I wasn't, I really wasn't.<p>

It was the Game. It was all I ever thought about.

Every time I played, the same thing happened. I knew how to handle the weak ones. I knew how to handle the fast ones. The sneaky ones. The strong ones. I could pick them off with arrows from a distance, fight in direct combat, slit their throats in their sleeps and track them down in any terrain. I knew their weaknesses. It had taken me years to figure it all out. Some would hide, you had to find them. Some would run, you had to trap them. And some would fight. I was hopeless against Careers in the beginning, but over time I learned how to wield a weapon. Use their strength against them. Find their vulnerabilities. A massive guy from District 2 was nothing if you took away his eyes. He'd actually be more dangerous if you didn't know how to handle it, but I did. They would do anything to kill you blindly, but they never learn how to use their ears. And that's how you win.

The problem was, I had never actually won before.

It was Atticus's game. He invented it, or whatever you want to call it. I was the tester, and I played it relentlessly. We presumed it was illegal, the Hunger Games were not to be taken lightly and we were practically making a mockery of the occasion by playing it on a game station every single day. It was shocking. Outrageous. TOTALLY insensitive. That's why we kept it a secret.

It was the first video game I had ever played that I could not complete. I blamed him for that, for programming it to be impossible. He insisted it wasn't.

I just wasn't a winner.

Yeah. WHATEVER.

It was the clever, unpredictable ones that caught me out every time. There was always one tribute that you couldn't quite define; one who had no obvious skill or tactic that you could pinpoint and overcome. They could play games in your head, even in the Video Games. I never knew how to defeat them.

You might think this game was a great training method, but to be honest it would be no help whatsoever in the real Hunger Games. Unpredictability was an even bigger problem in real life. Atticus was a computer genius, but even he couldn't programme such complex consciousness into each tribute to compare with real working minds. That's how I knew I'd never survive the real games. My one weakness was central to reality.

I played it because it was a game. And I, a gamer.

I needed to WIN.

I was a little obsessed. _Maybe._

I didn't even care about the reaping, I really didn't. My mind was on the virtual reality set back at home. But I forced myself to nod supportively to the other eighteens from District 3, listen to Mayor Horwell tell the tale of our history. The history of the Hunger Games. I can't even remember when I stopped being absolutely terrified for my life. Maybe it had something to do with the virtual death I died on a daily basis. At some point the Video Games had become reality for me, the Hunger Games just make-believe. The reaping really was just another day of the year.

I had seven slips. Oscar was at the podium. Happy Hunger Games, he was saying. Ladies first, he was saying. Skipping to the glass bowl, skipping back to the microphone. I just wanted to go home.

My eyes followed the turning heads to a girl I hardly recognised. She heard them call her name, and wrinkled her brow as everyone around pulled expressions of sympathy. The other girls tried not to look too relieved for her sake, and the boys simply took a moment from varying states of pure frozen terror to look a little brave. I mean, what else could we do?

I forgot her name almost instantly. And she didn't move, just raised her chin to frown thoughtfully at the sky. Just before the Peacekeepers were forced to come over and pull her away, she looked around and grinned.

Yeah, that's right. She actually _grinned_.

Now _there_ was a surprise. The unpredictability of real people!

That must have been a first from our District. And it wasn't a manic, _I'mma kill ALL you bitches! _kind of Career smirk or the typical, _Don't worry, Mom, I'm going to be all right _little smile. It was just a grin. She looked sort of happy. Or relieved, maybe.

She simply shrugged off the Peacekeepers and let them direct her up to the stage. She looked around her as she strolled up with her hands in her pockets, as if casually going up there to accept her prize from the raffle. Satan's Raffle. First prize: your head on a platter. To be served at the Capitol!

She never looked into anyone's face.

Oscar welcomed her warmly onto the stage, and the girl sort of cocked her head ironically and chuckled. Oh my God, she was crazy. TOTALLY INSANE. That was the only explanation.

Everyone watched on painfully. I felt sorry for her. I mean, of course I always feel sorry for the tributes because it's a pretty shit thing to happen. But this one … Well, she was different. She clearly wasn't right in the head. It was sad. Poor Crazy Girl.

"Congratulations, Annelida!" Oscar rolled on excitedly. Oscar was the escort for District 3. He was a massively tall, massively fat man who always looked rather dapper in pastel-coloured suits. I always liked Oscar. He clashed so nicely with our grey factory skies. Some interference echoed out from the microphone for a split second. "Am I saying that right? Annelida?"

"Yeah, perfect," the girl said, sounding bored. "And thank you _very _much." She grinned widely again, looking out into the crowd. Then her face immediately set back into the tiny frown she wore when she first heard her name, and she stared up at the sky.

Ah, _very_ interesting. So she was either completely loony … or she was Playing the Game.

The Crazy Girl (as I so christened her) was skinny and small but must have been around my age, at the older end of the reapee spectrum. Maybe it was her last year in the big glass bowl. That's pretty shit luck. She didn't look like she'd know much about how to survive in the Games. But she didn't seem too fussed by it all. Then again, maybe that was just what she _wanted _you to think.

Yeah, there was definitely some serious game being played here. She was pretty cool, standing up there with her teeny frown and her confidence. Arrogance. I began to expand my two earlier hypotheses. One: she was literally insane and really couldn't wait to stab a knife into the first person that came anywhere near her. Or two: she was acting tough in order to be taken seriously.

It was one thing acting like you didn't give a damn, but I just didn't think it was believable. She couldn't possibly be that confident.

And what was with the smile?

Maybe she _was_ crazy.

And sadistic.

Crazy sadistic bitch.

I vaguely realised that Crazy Girl was exactly the type I could never defeat.

Suddenly, everything went quiet and every head was turning again. Shit! I had been so distracted (reminding myself to take note of Crazy Girl's strategies later on while watching the Games from the safety of my sitting room) to even hear Oscar call out the name of the male tribute from District 3. And, you know, that was the only one I really gave a shit about. No offence, ladies. (And don't call me insensitive because I really don't care what you think.) I looked around dazedly. The kids behind me were looking ahead, but those in front were turning around to look behind.

I glanced to my right. "Dude, who is it?" I tried to whisper, but to be honest I never really learned that skill. (And yes, it's a skill.)

Atticus was staring right at me, his eyes ridiculously huge behind his square-rimmed glasses. I spun around, and the guy on my other side met my eyes as well.

At first I thought it was because I had spoken too loudly and out of place.

But then I realised that no boy was making his way up to the stage.

No.

What?

More people were staring at me now.

Why were they staring at me?

At _me _…

Oh shit. Wait, what?

I glanced back at Atticus, whose breaths were coming like an asthma attack right now.

"Dude …" I said slowly.

"Kale Clarke?" trilled the voice of Oscar Plumpton. "Where are you, kid?"

…

Oh. Holy. Christ.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

YOU LOSE

SPARKS33

YOU LOSE

One day when we were around fourteen, Atticus came around to my house with a brown paper bag clutched in his fist, and we sprinted up to my bedroom and locked the door. We turned out the lights. Switched on the game station. I remember the TV screen glowing in the dark, and feeling totally overwhelmed with a powerful sense of something HUGE. Maybe it was just the illegality of our actions, but there was something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something more meaningful than two teenage boys playing some stupid video game.

I remember the chills that shot up my neck when the name of my character was called. That nervous excitement as I walked up onto the stage and looked out proudly at my district, anticipating the moment I could get out there and play the damn game already. The cutscenes were a little long. But the excitement from the reaping lasted through until I entered the arena. Those chills couldn't be replaced by anything I had ever felt in real life. And it was completely terrifying in the most terrific way possible.

"KALE CLARKE? … Could somebody-?"

Hearing it now, for real? … Terrifying, sure. But not especially terrific.

I swallowed thickly, and spun around to look up at the podium. At Oscar, who was searching around and looking pointedly at various people to do something about the tribute who still wasn't making his way to the stage. And at the Crazy Girl, who was looking directly back at me.

Our eyes met for a split second but she quickly lowered hers. I clenched my teeth, glaring at the girl I would soon be sharing the arena with.

And then I took a deep breath.

FFUUUUUUUUU-

Hands were on my shoulders, shoving the shock out of me and bringing my legs back to life. I breathed hard through my nose, and stole a glance back at Atticus. His face could have been set in stone. And it was my name, it was _my_ goddamn name. But this was SO not supposed to happen, it just wasn't! I had seven slips! Seven! I was no scumbag, I didn't do tessarae! And it was my last year! I was … I was safe!

But my name had just come out of the reaping ball, and I suppose that's just what I get, you know? That's the price I pay for a living a relatively easy, sheltered life. Until now, of course.

This, world, was effing KARMA.

But now I really had to move. And with that I turned towards the stage and my legs began to walk, seemingly of their own accord.

It was the most severe out of body experience ever. My brain was definitely ordering my legs to run as fast as physically possible in the opposite direction, but my faithful limbs marched staunchly forwards, up the steps and onto the stage.

My head was spinning so fast I thought I'd faint, which would be absolutely mortifying. So I didn't.

Oscar beamed at me and I decided that I no longer liked him all that much.

He slapped me on the back, making me stagger a little because of his ridiculous size, and then I made a point of setting my face into a mask of supreme nonchalance and pride.

Fucking shit-fucker. Fucking dick-smoking, mother-fucking asshole. Cock-porking … shit-rooster! Shit. Fuck!

FUUUUUUUCCK.

The girl glanced at me out of the corner of her eye (and around Oscar's protruding massiveness), but I did not meet her gaze. She could just go screw herself for all I cared now. I had my own shit to worry about. My sympathy for her: LOST. I straightened my shoulders and looked out over the top of the crowd. It seemed I had momentarily gone deaf. And also blind and dumb. And I think my heart might have _literally _stopped beating, and my brain had spontaneously combusted and so forth.

They made us shake hands, and the girl pressed her lips together in a somewhat bracing smile as she squeezed mine. Trying to throw me off my game already, I could just tell. I stared over her shoulder because there was a ringing in my ears which was growing in intensity and I had kind of stopped breathing but I didn't want to open my mouth. I was likely going to throw up as soon as they got us off this stupid stage. Hopefully not any sooner than that! That would hardly do my reputation any good. My _image._ It was all I could hope for now, that I'd come across well on the screens all over Panem.

But I was cool. Yeah! I was _strong_.

I'm sure I must have blanked out and missed the majority of everything else that happened after I heard them call my name. Except for a brief moment when Oscar asked for volunteers.

Not a dickey bird. Screw the bastards of District 3.

As the anthem of Panem rang out through the square, my mind seemed to fade into blackness and the words MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR blazed across the sky. And it was like I could see myself – my character – as if I was looking down at him from the cameras perched on the flat roofs of the buildings.

I was as good as Sparks33 now. Limp on the ground with a dart in his neck.

YOU LOSE, asshole.

I was in a daze as we were carted through a door and into the Justice Building, and up stairs and down long corridors because apparently our district had so much injustice that this place needed hundreds of rooms and I just had no idea why it was taking so long to find somewhere for me to sit down and fall into TOTAL MENTAL DISREPAIR. The girl, on the other hand, simply shook off the Peacekeepers and walked along at a relaxed pace.

She turned her head and looked at me. I made a point of blatantly ignoring her. My face was hot and my mind was racing at like a billion thoughts per nanosecond. Mostly just the nonsensical ramblings of a brain trying to grasp hold of the idea that it could be completely destroyed, sent straight to hell or disintegrated into nothingness, in the very, very near future. Oh crappity crap. Now that the cameras were gone I was making little raspy noises every time I inhaled. And my chest felt kind of closed off, so I thought I was choking. That didn't help with the panicking.

And back to Crazy Face over there, her tactlessness was annoying me! Even though I had much greater things to worry about right now. Like MY IMMINENT DEATH. But, inexplicably, at this moment in time I was finding it kind of difficult to think about the Hunger Games, or anything else for that matter, when this lunatic just wouldn't stop _staring_ at me! After a few minutes of trying to cold-shoulder her, I simply couldn't take it any more. I glanced around at her and did a really pathetic double-take of surprise.

Her eyes ran up and down my person, and I realised that it was making me extremely uncomfortable for no real reason. I clenched my fists, now pissed off as well as uncomfortable. I shot her a withering look.

She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Then she simply blew out her cheeks and said,

"This is real fucking shit, right?"

I think I was so startled by her blasé that I forgot the situation for a moment. I scoffed, "Oh, all right, don't bother watching your language or anything. It doesn't repulse me at all."

I blinked in surprise, because it really was the last thing I had expected to come out of my mouth. _Sarcasm, _my trusty companion! We were about to be sent into an arena of twenty-four kids for a fight to the death, and I was commenting on her manners? What the heck was wrong with me?

And she just laughed. It was a genuine, loud laugh that didn't seem to be at all corrupted with freakish blood-lust or loss of sanity or intense fear. Which only reinforced the fact that she was TOTALLY INSANE. And she smiled a nice smile and said, "I'm Annelida. Do you know what your name means?"

I gaped at her in silence. She raised her eyebrows at me, as if _I _was the mental one.

"Mine is the word for a segmented worm," she said with a frown. She eyed me up again as we walked, and I eyed her reproachfully back. "Do you know what your name means?"

Where the heck did this chick come from?

I looked around at the Peacekeepers, wondering if anyone else was hearing this. But they were just ignoring us. Couldn't they, like, stop her from crazying herself all over me or something? This actually couldn't possibly be happening, could it? And not that I thought it would be a great idea to get my hopes up right now, _but oh my God maybe I was dreaming!_

I was dreaming and the reaping hadn't happened yet, and some other fucker was going to get carted off to the Games. And I'd feel bad for them but only really cared about my own sorry skin which was safe at home where the biggest worry was the water pollution in the lake and acid rain and whether or not I'd ever get invited to the popular kids' parties.

The girl was still waiting patiently for my response.

"I'm Kale," I said stupidly.

"I know," she replied, rolling her eyes slightly. "Your name means faithful – strong. A free man."

Her eyes ran over my bewildered and disoriented face. She smiled again.

"But, maybe not so free."

I didn't even have time to reply with the appropriate, "What the fffuuuuuuu-" because at that moment she was directed into a room where she would say goodbye to her loved ones for the very last time before being shipped off to the Summer Camp From Hell. Our eye contact was only broken when the door closed on her grinning face.

I stopped in my tracks when her face disappeared, but was instantly bullied into walking again to the next room. And at that moment I knew.

Worm Girl was a ruthless and psychotic game-playing murderer.

And she would be the death of me.

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><p><span>AN:<span>

'Allo there! I hope you're enjoying the story, yes yes? Please leave a review if you like it, and if you don't you can still leave a review! Be helpful! Thanks to those who already have :) I've got a good feeling about this. I just realised it's slightly like the original story of the Hunger Games, but turned back to front and topsy turvy, if that makes sense. Should become clear as it goes on.

Anyways, thank you for reading! :D I hope it's good!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The door closed behind me and I was alone. I didn't sit down for fear that I wouldn't be able to get back up again.

With the Worm Girl's sadistic grin still burned on my brain, I finally began to realise the full extent of what had just happened to me.

I was going into the Hunger Games.

I pinched my arm.

Nope, not a dream. I wasn't that lucky.

I was going to die.

I was shaking terribly, and I pressed my hand over my mouth as the hyperventilating began. I fell into a chair.

In a matter of days I would be going into an arena to fight for my life with twenty-three other teenagers. Inclusive to that was a girl who seemed to find the prospect of murdering me rather amusing. Fantastic. Crazy bitch. She was the type I would need to watch out for.

Oh God, I was already thinking up a game plan! This was actually happening! But I guess it was never too early to start, right? I would need all the time in the world to come up with a way to get out of this in one piece …

Oh, who was I kidding? I had no chance at all. None. I was a dead man. Dead like Boy #2 and Sparks33 alike.

My facial muscles began to twitch as my eyes pricked and stung with tears.

And just then, the door opened and my parents rushed in.

I stood up quickly. My mom ran at me and buried herself in my shirt, which only this morning she was giving out to me for not tucking a napkin into at breakfast. Now she appeared to be using it as a tissue as she sobbed hysterically. It was awful. I just hugged her and looked over her head at my dad, whose eyes were wet too. But he pressed his lips together bravely and put his hand on my shoulder.

I don't think I had ever been serious about anything in my life. I usually found a way to turn everything into a joke so I wouldn't have to deal with shit. But now, for the first time, I didn't make any insensitive joke or even attempt to lighten the mood.

The most I could do for my parents now was not to cry.

And as I hugged her tightly, my mom whispered, "Such strong arms. When did you get to be so _strong_?"

"Definitely all those video games," I said lightly. "They're a real thumb-workout, I'm telling ya."

OK, so I couldn't help _one_ joke. And it was funny because whether or not it did anything for my thumbs, all the sword fighting most definitely did a little something for my biceps. I had always been skinny, scrawny almost, but recently I had become a hell of a lot leaner. Not that it made a difference now.

My dad opened his mouth to speak but I said, "Can we just not talk about it? I'm so sorry."

"It's not fair," choked Mom. And I agreed with her, in some ways. Someone had to go, but I felt at full liberty to be pissed off that it had to be _me_. Why me? Why not … anyone else but me? I knew plenty of wankers in school that deserved this more than I did. I rather liked me. I was rather attached to my life. I didn't want to die.

And that wasn't a completely selfish thought. My parents were going from two kids to none in the space of three years.

What would my parents even do without me now? I was literally all they had. My mom was basically catatonic as it was, and what would Dad do with her when I wasn't around as a reliable source of comedy and tension diffusion? Their worlds revolved around me, no point denying it.

The three of us stood there in an awkward, dysfunctional group hug for the duration of our allotted 'so long farewell please don't become a cannibal' time. It seemed as if it was as soon as the Peacekeepers came to throw my parents out, that I suddenly found the words. Or some words, at least.

Mom screamed and hit my chest, and I just held her away from me and looked firmly at my dad. "Dad, Atticus is going to come by. Let him take whatever from my room."

Dad nodded. "Of course."

Mom was pulling herself from my arms, grabbing my face in both her hands, looking wild and desperate with her face all shining and wet.

I swallowed and forced myself to look at her. "Just … don't be disappointed with me," I got out.

She met my eyes. People always told me I had her eyes. They just looked like regular brown ones to me. "You'll do your best," she said firmly. And right then, the way she said it, it sounded more like an order.

Tears were rolling slowly down Dad's face. "We are so proud of you, Kale."

"Thanks, Dad."

They told me they loved me as the Peacekeepers ripped their arms from me and hauled them out of the room. My last words to them were,

"Thanks for being my parents." Because I didn't know what else to say.

I went to the window and hunched over, my head in my hands, and screwed my face up. I didn't know if this was a panic attack or I was simply about to burst into a girlish fit of tears, and I never actually found out. Because at that moment the door opened again, and I looked up to see Atticus standing in the doorway. His face was still frozen in the same expression of pure disbelief.

"Sparky," he said.

Something about seeing my best friend suddenly woke me out of the hopelessness left behind by my parents, and allowed me to blurt out the one thing I was freaking out about more than anything.

"Att, that girl is A TOTAL INSANE PSYCHO!"

Atticus blinked and shook his head at me. "What?"

"Worm Girl!" I yelled, pointing energetically at the door. And I didn't exactly know why this girl was the first thing on my mind in a situation like this. But hey, I was a dying man. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. "She's mental! I swear, she's gonna kill me in my sleep before we even get to the Games! No – wait – she'll kill the driver and crash the train! I wouldn't put it past her! Honest to God, she's CRAAAAZY!"

Atticus had closed the door behind him because I was shouting ever so slightly and my voice tended to carry, even when I wasn't trying. He looked at me seriously, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Who – you mean Annelida?"

"Yeah," I said impatiently. "Sorry, she told me she's a worm – I'm telling you, she's out of her mind. Where the hell did that girl come from anyway?"

Atticus looked at me, wrinkling his brow like he thought I was joking. "Dude, she sits beside you in Post-Modern Physics!"

"WHAT?" I bellowed.

And Atticus grinned. Was this a time for grinning? Hm, oh that's right – NO IT DAMN WELL WASN'T! "What the hell is wrong with you? Remember I had to do my project with her after Mr Hutzler said the two of us couldn't be partners any more?"

"But – She should be in a mental institution!" I proclaimed. "You saw her sadistic grin out there. She thinks the idea of murdering me is hilarious!"

"Annelida?" he replied. "No way. She's a sweet girl, Sparky. She's got a wicked sense of humour, too -"

"I'M GOING OFF TO MY DEATH AND YOU'RE ONLY TALKING ABOUT THIS RANDOM INSANE GIRL WHO WANTS ME DEAD? WHAT THE HELL KIND OF FRIEND ARE YOU ANYWAY?"

"You're the one who brought her up!" Atticus said loudly. Not angrily, just forcefully enough to shut me up instantly. He had a sage-like calmness, young Atticus. I scowled, and he shook his fair hair out of his eyes.

I plopped myself back into the room's only seat. "I just thought … I never thought we'd get picked. Either of us. I don't know why, but I did."

"Me too," said Atticus.

We were quiet for a moment. Thinking about my death. Thinking about leaving Atticus and my parents with nobody. No more Sparky lovin' to give once I was gone. How _tragic_ it was.

"I'm going to die a virgin," I realised aloud.

Atticus laughed at me. It wasn't funny, but I appreciated it. And I felt slightly better knowing I could still joke about this. Like I wasn't actually about to die a virgin. Which … truth be told … I was.

(You tell anyone, I slit your freaking throat.)

"Hang on, who says you're gonna die?" the doof comes out with.

"Oh right! I keep getting this mixed up with the Satiety Games, where nobody dies and we're all granted eternal life. Wow, what a stroke of luck I got picked!"

Atticus glared at me.

I thumped myself in the head and sighed. "It's the Hunger Games, Att, dying is kinda the entire point."

"No," he said. I goggled at him. It seemed like everyone was becoming a lunatic today. Maybe I should give it a try. He met my eyes seriously. "You're not dying, not if I can help it. And, look, we're wasting time here! We need to sort out your game plan. What-"

"Game plan? GAME PLAN? Dude, it's past that! I'm out like the natural look in the Capitol. I'm dead like dork in a pack of wild Careers! On second thought, that's not even a metaphor. I _literally_ am a dork in a pack of wild Careers."

"That was a simile, not a metaphor."

I stared at him, and cocked my head. "I'm not going to miss that."

He grinned goofily. "Sparky, you're missing the big picture! Can't you see? You've had more training than anyone going into that arena, even the Careers!"

I rolled my eyes to show I wasn't amused, but I was actually refraining from getting up and kicking the shit out of the nearest soft object (which probably would have been Atticus, if I'm being honest). I couldn't believe this was the last conversation I was ever going to have with my best friend. And only friend, for that matter. And so it was only natural that I began to get narky. "Your dumb game isn't training, and please don't patronise me. I'm about to die and I'm not very happy about it."

I crossed my arms and looked away.

Then Atticus slapped me in the face.

"What the hell, man?" I yelled, cupping my stinging cheek in my hands.

Atticus was all up in my grill, hands on either arm of my seat. "No," he said quietly. (Quietly, but with dead seriousness.) His clear blue eyes were magnified behind his glasses. "You're not giving up. What'll I do without you, huh? What about your parents? Who's going to pop Melissa May Hutcherson's cherry?"

"Uh, I dunno. Maybe her _boyfriend._"

Atticus poked a finger into my chest. "Come back a victor – _You_ will be her boyfriend."

I stared at the wall and felt my eyes widen. "So what's this game plan you were shitting on about?" I asked hastily. Before he could say anything I was already having second thoughts. Or third thoughts, as the case was. "Hang on – I can't tell the mentors about the Game! It's illegal!"

Suddenly I was thinking about the mentors, who had been mysteriously absent from the reaping ceremony. And panic was just beginning to set in before I realised that Wiress, being the youngest victor from our district, would be the one mentoring. Not Beetee. I relaxed considerably at that thought. But there was still the issue of giving away my game plan. Getting Atticus into trouble. And getting myself into trouble, if there wasn't the large probability that I wouldn't be coming back from this ordeal alive.

"This is life or death, you thick shit!" Atticus said loudly. "I don't care! You're gonna go in there and tell them you've got the sword skills of a samurai. That you can use a bow and arrows. That you already know how to deal with any combination of tributes around you. That you know how to handle every terrain they've thrown into the arena since the very First Hunger Games!"

He was bonkers. "First problem: I can't run! I've never held a real sword in my life. I've never aimed an arrow-"

"So that's what the training is for! You have three days. You go in there, pick up a sword in your hands. Get a feel for it. The skills are there, you just need to break them in!"

I breathed in heavily through my nose. "Second problem: I can't predict the actions of twenty-three fully conscious, non-pixelated Tributes."

"Nobody can. But you've got as good a chance as any of them do. Better, I'd wager."

"THIRD PROBLEM," I said, gritting my teeth. I couldn't bring myself to say anything for a moment. Then I burst out, "I can't kill a real person!"

Atticus glared at me. He fixed his glasses solemnly.

"This isn't a game, dude," I said, my courage forced. I hoped he didn't notice my voice squeaking up a little at the end. Just a little.

He met my eyes and shook his head sadly. "Is it really so different, Sparky?"

I didn't know if he meant that about the game or about the killing. Both, I guess.

"The Game is sound," he said. "Remember how much research we put into it?"

I did remember that. The old tapes of every past Hunger Games were still stashed away under my bed. Notebooks full of personalities and skills and strategies. Even more full of our own game plans once development was finished and we began to play. Turns out it was easier to programme an infinite list of characters with different skills and levels and tactics than it was to make up your own way of beating them.

Suddenly I was thinking of the hundreds of games plans I had carried out over the years. I was pretty much the master of the Game. That's why I had a Master's sword. But no - this was crazy. The video Games couldn't help me.

"I've never won it," I said, my voice quiet for once.

"You've come pretty damn close," he replied.

I couldn't think what else to say. Was there really a chance? My heart was suddenly beating hard in my chest, my mind setting on a course of action. This was the same thing I did daily. I knew better than anyone how to play the Hunger Games. So my chances weren't guaranteed, but who cares? I had a chance at least! I could still _try_. "Just … don't be disappointed with me if I can't do it, okay?"

I vaguely realised that it was much the same thing I had told my mother. _Don't be disappointed if I'm dead in an hour._

"As long as you haven't given up hope, I won't."

I stood up and faced my friend, standing inches above the top of his blonde head. I placed my hand on his shoulder. He could have possibly just given me the key to my survival in the arena. "Atticus-"

"We've got no time," he interrupted. "Here – I dunno if you've got any token you want to wear from the district." I blinked at him, a token being the last thing on my mind. He nodded, reading my face easily. "Then I want you to wear your buddy band, okay?"

The band was already on my wrist. It was just a black leather bracelet, a simple plait with a silver disc intertwined between the straps. Atticus had a similar one, but brown and thick and carved instead of plaited. They were NOT friendship bracelets or buddy bands because that is gay (and he knew I HATED it when he called them that!). But still, I had been wearing it constantly for years. I still remember the day we got them, back when we were kids exploring the market that springs up in town every summer. We saw them and thought of something cool. I can't even remember what. Maybe pirates. Or barbarians. But we had to have them. We spent our ice-cream money on them.

I was glad to have that as my token in the Games. Not just to remind me of my district. But to remind me of my best friend. To remind me of _myself_.

At least I thought that was what Atticus meant when he looked seriously into my face and said, "Never forget yourself in there, Sparky."

I really didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but it made an image prop up in my mind. Me, in the Hunger Games. Me, with my average height, my average build, my hair which would surely turn into a complete jew fro if the humidity wasn't right in whatever arena was awaiting me. I swallowed. This was one of the first times I began thinking of myself as physically _in_ the arena. Fighting for my life. Fighting to kill.

I was a tribute.

But I was no longer a limp corpse lying silent on the ground. I had a chance. I was going to fight.

We knew instinctively that our time was almost up. Most kids, I thought, would tell their friends to always remember them. Maybe to fix one thing, to tie one loose end. Some kids might have to instruct their friends how to take care of themselves, how to take care of their families.

My version of this was slightly different.

"Porn under my mattress," I began, my words slurring with the speed of my panic as we edged reluctantly to the door. "Can of spray-paint behind the books on the corner shelf. Half-bottle whiskey there, too. Strategy notebooks in a shoebox under my bed. Condoms in my bottom drawer – And take whatever you like from my comics and collectors' stuff – OH, and the TV's switched off but the Game's still on pause. So don't turn it off. Maybe I'll be back to finish it soon enough," I concluded, shooting him a grin.

He grinned widely back and punched my arm. "I knew you hadn't given up!"

The door opened and it was time for him to go.

We stared at each other, realising that this could well be it.

"I love you, Sparky," he said.

"Don't be a fag."

And then he was gone, and I was alone once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was the moment the Peacekeepers searched me and confiscated my iChip that the tears really threatened to fall. What did they think I'd do, blast people to death with music? That thing had my whole _being_ inside of it; my songs, my shows, my contacts. Even just for the few days before going into the arena, I would have liked to have it with me. I don't think I would have contacted anyone either way. The goodbyes had been said, and there was nothing my parents or my friend could do for me now. But, still, it would have been nice to have the option. But no, no contact whatsoever with the outside world. What was even the point? If I had been able to text Atticus, or my parents, what the freaking harm would it be doing? From here on in it was up to me to prepare for this ordeal.

So the tears were purely out of frustration. Nothing else. Obviously … I'm not a pansy.

I ranted away about this for a good five minutes to the Peacekeepers, who seemed to be especially narky today. Usually District 3 Peacekeepers are all right, because as a depressed factory district we don't cause a lot of trouble. I could see them rolling their eyes at me, they saw me as some materialistic middle-class brat. Which is what I was, but they had no right to prejudge against me!

"That was a gift from my uncle!" I yelled. "God, if you knew who you were dealing with here …"

The Peacekeeper sighed impatiently as if I was a kid. He hardly had five years on me!

Ahead of me I could see Oscar strutting his way over to the car with the Crazy Girl as I was being directed out of the Justice Building. I turned around to the Peacekeeper one last time. "I'll expect to get that back when I return from my short trip to the Capitol," I said sternly, poking him hard in the chest.

That actually got a laugh out of him. But I was not joking in the least. I had no intentions of losing any more. So, maybe Atticus had lost his mind a little bit, but was it really so crazy? The Careers had their own version of training for the Hunger Games, after all, and this was just my way of doing the same thing. I actually had an even greater advantage, because I had first hand experience in tons of different arenas. And I already knew I could beat all kinds of tributes. So what if it was just a video game? It still had to count for something. Maybe my odds weren't great (nobody's were, really) but I still had a chance, didn't I?I don't know if I really believed I could win this thing, or whether it was simply the idea of leaving Atticus in school with no mates, or because my parents' marriage surely couldn't survive through the death of another son. Maybe I just wasn't ready to accept the idea of my death. But whatever the reason, I was now determined to WIN.

My bad day was actually getting worse, though. It was like God was taking great care for every little teensy weensy thing to go annoyingly wrong. Someone up there enjoyed pushing my buttons, I swear.

For instance, why did Oscar feel the need to pile into the back seat of the Capitol car with me and Crazy Girl? No freaking clue. The passenger seat in the front was free. But he did, and his size meant that I was left crushed against Crazy Girl on one side, feeling totally uncomfortable _touching_ her. I felt less awkward about Oscar's flab squishing into me on the other side. Okay, so he wasn't exactly fat. Nobody in the Capitol was. He just had really REALLY big bones. And he stood at around six and a half feet, I'd guess. Crazy Girl was a bit of a midget but it was still a stretch to squeeze the three of us in the back seat. Of course, I was in the middle with my shoulders hunched and my hands clamped together and pressed awkwardly between my knees. Because the universe hated me.

So there we were in the car on the way to the train. And Oscar was rabbiting on about how this really was the worst part, saying goodbye to the family and leaving home. It really only got better from here, he said.

Yeah, because the death part was certain to be a bundle of laughs! Or in my case, the trauma of coming out a victor.

I took a sly glance at the Crazy Girl. I was hoping – or at least expecting – to see red, bleary eyes, swollen or puffy cheeks, trembling lips or maybe a wobbly chin. But no dice. She was just staring out of the window, looking mildly interested in the world outside of the car.

I didn't care what Atticus said. I didn't like her. Not one little bit.

"So, did you both get to say your goodbyes all right?" asked Oscar in his soft, girlish voice. "It was okay, wasn't it? I say, the Peacekeepers couldn't wait to get us out – can't imagine why – one of them almost tried to search me! I swear, he _must've_ fancied me-"

Talking to Oscar in real life was strange. He seemed sort of like a really bad celebrity. I had only ever seen him pimping around on the TV from past games, and he seemed just as excitable and just as daft in person. He was just so large, so chatty, so very _very_ gay. I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable sitting so close to him. I'm not a homophobe or anything, I'm just saying it's a little worrying. An attractive young man such as myself in close proximity to the largest, most flamboyant guy in all of Panem.

Still, better him than Crazy Girl.

I realised he was asking a question, wondering how our farewells went, and Wormy seemed to be ignoring both of our existences so it was up to me to answer him.

I didn't mind too much, because Oscar was the kind of dude it was easy to get along with. Also, I was a real likable guy.

(And I may or may not have been eager to charm him into determination to help me win this thing in any way possible.)

And then I realised that my game plan began right here. Well, really it began as soon as my name was called. But now I consciously had an image to work up. The cameras had to remember this face if I ever had a hope of getting sponsors. I wasn't your typical career, so I needed them to recognise me somehow. I hadn't decided exactly what my character would be yet. But so far I was working cool. Calm. Collected.

So basically, I just had to be myself. I was the coolest cat in town.

What had he asked, again?

"Uh, my parents. My best friend Atticus came by, too."

Okay, so it was still hard to be cool in a situation like this. I still kind of felt like puking.

I smiled at Oscar instead and he simpered and squeezed my arm. I tried VERY hard not to flinch back and scream STRANGER DANGER! Then he leaned forwards to look at the Crazy Girl. "What about you, Annelida? Were you okay saying goodbye to your family?"

She was still looking out the window. She didn't even look up.

"I'm an orphan," she said simply.

Oscar and I both froze and gaped at her. She didn't even say it like she was looking for sympathy. Like: _Oooh I've got no parents – gimme gimme sponsors!_ She just said it matter-of-factly, still distracted by something out the window. I watched her eyes following a bunch of birds that were flying consistently into the distance, a never-ending flow of wing and feathers.

_An orphan! _That explained … absolutely nothing!

Oscar made a tiny sound like a whimpering kitten, and eventually came out with, "Oh … that's too bad."

I took this moment to get a better look at my rival – she was clearly crazy, but what else? An orphan. She sure didn't _look _like an orphan. Orphans in District 3 all lived in the one children's home, and they all looked pretty much like clones. The boys had short, simple haircuts and the girls had the most awful bobs. Every single one of them. Except of course, our own special trooper here. The Crazy Girl had her black hair chopped short – and I'm talking _short._ Like a boy's. She wore it neatly combed today, parted on the side with a bit of bangs cut messily across her forehead. It annoyed me for some reason. She thought she was _such_ an individual.. And that wasn't the only thing that set her apart from the other parentless kids I had seen in school. She had the ashen skin that was so common in our district – just like mine – but her face was brighter, less hopeless than what I usually associated with the kids in the children's home. Because something about being an orphan automatically made you a depressing sight. Lifeless. Or else a total miscreant. But still, even now, heading for death, the Crazy Orphan Worm Girl did not have that look.

The only thing that might have given away her background would be the clothes. Grey pinafore skirt and a white blouse that looked like it could have been made out of paper for all it was worth.

I watched her pale face, wondering how on Earth I had never recognised her in school. She wasn't ugly. But she was just a little plain, and I guess I've just grown to block out the sight of orphans, because they were even lower on the popularity scale than I was.

I realised too late that I was still glaring intently at her, so when she blinked and turned to look quizzically at me I very smoothly switched my gaze to the window and yelled, "Oh look! You can see my house from here!"

Way to be cool, Sparky.

She didn't look away from me, and when I met her eyes for a second she wrinkled her brow a little curiously and smiled. Then she then looked around me at Oscar. "You can call me Annelie. Most people do, anyway."

I think Oscar was still in shock, because I doubted that anyone in the Capitol would come out with something like orphanhood in such a casual manner and expect everyone to brush over it. Did they even have orphans in the Capitol? I didn't really understand what she was playing at either. She wasn't making an awful lot of sense to me.

"Oh – Oh, that's lovely," he got out, not even trying to mask how awkward he felt.

"Yeah," she said, "it's one less syllable, you know. People are lazy, don't wanna say all of a long name." Her eyes stopped on my face again. "People call you Sparky, but that's longer than Kale. Weird, isn't it?"

And then she just grinned widely at me and returned to staring out the window.

I looked at Oscar and we widened our eyes at each other, clearly thinking the same thing. _What a fricking psycho._ His face actually made me want to burst out laughing but I'm not a rude person.

"Sparky? That's cute!" he trilled, seeming eager to push the Crazy out of the conversation by all means necessary (which I had no problem with at all). "Where'd that nickname come from?"

"Duh, because I used to wire spark plugs when I was, like, five," I said sarcastically. The Crazy Girl turned to stare at me. Oscar also stared, clearly not getting the joke. "I dunno! It's because I'm Kale Clarke. Clarky – Sparky? How should I know?"

(I actually _did_ change spark plugs a lot, but not when I was five … I don't think that's even where the name came from, though.)

And then I was thinking about Atticus. He knew this Crazy Girl somehow, but I didn't. And she seemed to know me. She knew my name, the meaning of my name, my nickname … Now I wished I had asked Atticus a bit about her. Maybe it could help me when we were facing each other in the arena. Now all I had were my keen observational skills.

_Faithful – Strong. A free man. _How did she even know what my name meant off the top off her freakish head? That was totally creepy! _But, maybe not so free. _What did that even mean? I wasn't free, not from the Games. She wasn't making a stab at the Capitol, was she? Now _that_ would be crazy.

"So … should we call you Sparky, then?" asked Oscar.

I glanced briefly at the Crazy Girl. "_You_ can, if you want to, Oscar." I put very deliberate emphasis on the 'you,' and looked pointedly at the girl to tell her that she was not welcome to share that privilege. And yes. It is a privilege. A privilege that mental people do not deserve. "My best friend made it up," I said. "I think."

I stared at my hands.

"So, I suppose you at least got to say farewell to some of your chums, right Annelie?" asked Oscar.

"I didn't really want to see anyone," she replied. Oscar and I shot each other quick glances.

Oscar leaned forward, a feat that looked rather uncomfortable for a guy that big, and ogled at the Crazy Girl. "You didn't speak to _anyone _before you left?" he exclaimed, and I could feel him ready to shout at the driver to turn us around right this instant.

"No. Oh, but your friend Atticus came to see me," said the Crazy Girl in an offhand sort of way.

I wouldn't have realised she meant _my_ friend if she hadn't said his name. I turned my head and stared blatantly at her. "_What_?"

She blinked in surprise. "Yeah, I think he came in while you were talking to your parents," she explained, but this still wasn't making any sense to me.

"No!" I said loudly. "Why would Att go to see _you_? That makes NO sense whatsoever!"

She shrugged, wrinkling her brow in confusion at my reaction. "I dunno, I think it was just because I wasn't speaking to anyone else." She stopped and twisted her hand around her wrist. "We did a project together in Post-Modern Physics."

I shook my head. "That's not a reason!"

She shrugged again, and I could feel Oscar behind me trying to pat my shoulder to calm me down, but I wasn't having any of it. Why did _my _best friend go to see Crazy Girl before he came to see me? She was the enemy! And for some reason I didn't blame him for it. In my mind it was all the fault of the Crazy Girl.

She smiled at me which only made me hate her even more. "He's a really good guy. You're lucky to have a friend like that."

I scoffed and turned back to face the front of the car, crossing my arms across my chest. "It's got nothing to do with luck," I spat.

There was a moment's silence. I could see her lean her body forwards, trying to meet my eyes but I wasn't letting it happen. "I just meant … Hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you-"

"Well, you should try a little harder next time," I said coldly.

Needless to say, the rest of the car trip was rather uncomfortable for everyone.

But before I knew it we were standing on the station platform, getting our picture taken outside the train. Oscar was having a ball. He wedged himself between the two of us, something for which I was very thankful given my current anger at the Crazy Girl. But after a minute of him posing and us feeling kind of awkward, he had some official business to attend to. Looking rather disheartened, he told us to wait there.

Crazy Girl was smiling and waving for the cameras, and her stupid unnecessary laughter was irritating me. I just stood straight and smirked, not bothering to look into the cameras because that's just how cool I was. People needed to see fearless. In control. Which is what I was.

A moment after Oscar left us in front of the cameras, the girl looked at me. I exhaled slowly through my nose and ignored her for as long as I could. Eventually I gave in and met her eyes, and then she said,

"I forgot to say, I'm really sorry this happened to you."

I took her in for a moment. She was pretty tiny so that I was looking down at her even though I'm not especially tall. She wasn't smiling but her eyes were wide and curious. Then I realised what it was that seemed to brighten her face. She had these really big, hazel-coloured eyes. And suddenly I could only think how different they were from the deep brown one I had seen wet with tears earlier. My mother's and my own eyes were so brown that you could hardly tell the irises from the pupils. In the Crazy Girl's there was an obvious difference, her pupils stood out very black and slightly dilated against the greeny-golden colour.

I narrowed my eyes and glanced away from her. Why should she be sorry for me? She should be minding her own business, not caring about the other tributes. Like I was doing. Then it hit me – she wasn't sorry I got picked because it's an awful thing to happen to someone. She was sorry I got picked because she could tell I was a winner! She knew her chances were slight with someone like me in the arena. Yeah, that's totally it.

But, being the slick guy I was, I pretended I thought she was genuinely sympathetic. "Yeah, me too," I agreed. She gave a small smile and looked back at the cameras, waving at them. "And for you."

She gave a laugh and said, "Ah, I'll be all right."

I blenched and stared at her, feeling anger well up inside of me. She couldn't possible be that arrogant! She thought she was so much better than me, I could just tell. Well, I wasn't having that. "You think you'll be all right? How the hell are you so sure?" I accused her. She stopped waving and looked at me, frowning confusedly. "And what, so you think I need your sympathy but you don't need mine? Well, you can take your fricking sympathy. I don't want it."

I turned from her and shot a grin at the nearest camera. I could see her staring at me but I didn't look around. "I didn't mean it like that," she said. But I ignored her, and before anything else came of it, we were ordered onto the train and were leaving the world of District 3 behind us.

I was directed into my room and then left alone. I took a moment to look around at the lush furniture and velvety silver wallpaper and threadbare rugs, before sprinting to the en-suite and puking my guts up into the toilet.

Then I brushed my teeth. And when Oscar called me for dinner I realised that I was absolutely starved.

* * *

><p><span>AN:<span>

So hello again, I'm glad you've come this far! It's not bad, is it? And it's only gonna get better from here! I've got exams coming up, so if you like it **review** and I'll update soon! But if I'm not getting many readers this won't be top priority or anything. (It shouldn't _really_ be above university on my priorities list anyway, but oh well :) nothing I can do!) xD Anyways, any tiny comment is appreciated, even just to let me know you're interested. If you review it'll make me want to update even sooner!

Now I'll stop being desperate! I hope you like it thus far, and Beetee's involvement in all of this will become clear in Ch 5. There's a lot of fun stuff to come, like a good bit of drama and tragedy and awkward moments between Sparky and Crazy Girl. Plus some banter about physics, because physics is COOL!

Haha, well thanks for reading! :D


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